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Torm could tell Jaek was giving ground about as well as he was pressing. Testing their vast amounts of skill, being relatively equaled in terms of raw power, against his own was definitely more enjoyable than much of what he'd been doing in the last month. Torm was fighting hard, and it was showing. The bruises he'd been dealt were starting to burn, his muscles were a muted complaint, quickly squirreled away by his mental discipline. His head was drenched in sweat, and his robes, the worst casualty of all were his robes. But, that aside, he was smiling, and smiling bright, as he looked at the toll his own efforts were taking on his opponent.

Torm gave him the room he wanted, catching the knee but allowing himself to be forced back for a moment. It gave him a chance to close up the more serious wounds that were pressing him, and a moment to catch his breath. But moments later, he was on the war path again, pressing him with his original blade-to-blade and the like. However, he took a moment between strokes to give the little gremlin he was still holding a chance to see just what kind of power-creatures he was dealing with, by pulling him along, giving him a bird's eye view of the fight as it got into the real dirty strikes. It would be fun to sense the creature's confusion and give him a playful scare later. Of course, his intent was still there, no harm should come to the creature's life.

Torm took a moment to notice the opening of the gates, and decided that now would be the perfect time to press the hardest. Or, to cheat and just life and ragdoll Jaek out of the city and follow him. But, that part really didn't seem fair. For now, he'd just start to press harder, making certain to actively press against the weakened portions of the Frostarian's armor to make sure he got just how hard he was doing this particular assault.

Suddenly, Torm's offensive intensified. They were nearby the gate which began to slowly creak open. What? This was their plan? He only had Torm and the guards as targets, there likely wouldn't have been THAT much collateral damage. Well, not as much as last time. Ironically, Torm was causing much more damage what with his telekinesis pickings things up and tossing them around at Jaek.

"So you plan to give me the boot out of the city, do you!" he roared. "Fine!" He began to mix up his thrown punches by alternating releasing his wristblade here or there. The product was a myriad of punches that otherwise would have been not deadly (to the Kiffar) now rendered even more dangerous with the unpredictability of whether or not the blade would shoot out. Hooks became slashes, jabs became stabs. What might be a block or a redirection may prove more painful than before with the blades as new variables. It would be difficult for the Kiffar to distinguish when a punch to the jaw might end up sending a foot long blade of sharpened Arctic metal through the side of his face.

This sudden change in tactics caught Torm by surprise, allowing Jaek a few cuts here or there, but didn't staunch his offensive too greatly. In fact, it gave him an excuse to stagger his approach, tossing in less ground-based movements, and applying a greater set of acrobatics. Jaek's fury at being pressed out of the city in this manner made Torm fight to keep his smile from widening into a big pearly target. His anger implied he didn't know exactly what Torm was planning to do when he pushed him out of the city.

Torm's attack methods were much more sporadic than before, rather than solid and driving. He employed much more open and acrobatic movements, much more quickly than most normal creatures would consider reasonably feasible. He'd slowed his reliance on telekinetic shoves and pushes, allowing his own lack of predictability to help the sway of the fight. That's when he finally got it, a clean cut. A nice, hefty strike across the stomach, shredding the armor and leaving a shallow wound on the flesh underneath, followed up immediately by a strike across the head, which rends the Northerner's helmet, cutting his face and sending the arctic metal remains flying off to the side. He takes the opportunity opened by this pair of strikes to throw most of his force into a flat-out telekinetic wave, throwing himself into Jaek in a full-body tackle, and sending the pair of them flying through the gates and crashing into the forest at bullet speeds, certain most of the inevitable crash would be absorbed by the Frostarian's insanely durable armor and the sturdy, if a little bruised, flesh beneath. For the split-second it takes him to do so whilst they're sailing through the air, Torm speaks to Jaek's mind "Listen, when we land, we need to take a short distance, and then I'll explain why exactly I just flat-out threw us both out of the city. It's an unimaginative plan, but a good one. You're gonna like this." he explains shortly.

All the guards and remaining crowd could hear the outraged roar of the Frostarian and the sound of Torm's impact before they flew out of the gates. The large wooden barriers quickly slammed shut in an attempt to keep the Northern monster out for now. The fact that Jaek's armor was damaged further, even to the point that it had broken near infuriated the Frostarian. However the Kiffar's telepathic words brought him out of his stupor. The hell? he thought. I better like this, Torm.

The two quickly crashed outside the walls with the Frostarian taking the blunt of gravity's punishment. He stood up quickly and tore off what little remained of his helmet, letting his messy black hair fall out. Though his expression was not pleased, it was a little difficult to take him seriously with the helmet head he was suffering.

Torm rises to his feet, smiling sneakily "Alright, so I couldn't really let you perform the inevitable interrogation you were going to perform, but that restriction only exists within the city, due to the letter dictating my peoples' jurisdiction as part of the city watch." he explains, before raising his hand, and pulling it forward in a fist. A ways away, the gremlin from before is hurtling through the sky, streaking toward the outside of the city. Torm simply stands there, awaiting the arrival of whatever his gesture had just caused.

"Now!" Lars called at the gates of the city. And at his command, a golden javeline, gold being the main color of all Royal Weaponry, was launched through the air. The weapon was thrown with such force that the thick weapon wiggled as it sailed. In mere seconds, and perfectly timed, it pierced the clothing of a squealing Hemsley and had him nailed to the stone wall of the city. The Gremlin cried out, curled in a ball and whimpered as he was there dangling, still being pulled by the Kiffar.

Jabbing two fingers in Hemsley's direction, Lars gives a cool stare to Torm as the gates shut with a gentle creak and thud. As the gates shut, four guards were on Hemsley, taking him down from the Javeline as the hulk of mass who threw it, huffed deeply and snatched it out of the wall. It then gave a firm nod to Lars before looking to the guards who had Hemsley and starting to lead them away.

No matter how powerful and special you may be.. you will not torment my citizens how you please. He growled to himself before turning and following after his men.

Jaek scowled. "I wasn't going to torture him. The little green bastard was scared enough as is by the scene he caused. Your plan better had work." He didn't mind his pride nor hid dignity. Dignity? What dignity? There wasn't much in this line of work.

The Frostarian crossed his arms and stared at the gate walls waiting for Hemsley to appear just as Torm had promised.

Torm looked puzzled for a moment, before noting the expression of Lars, nodding slowly as an understanding dawned in the span of a moment "I see. So they caught on." Torm notes audibly. He shrugs, and simply slides his emitter back into its place on his belt.

He looks over at Jaek "It appears the guards are not as foolish as they once were, and Hemsley will now be serving a very long sentence in the city prison system." All the while he's explaining this, he still had some reach with Hemsley, and was already digging his way into Hemsley's mind, attempting to pry the necessary information out so violence would not be necessary later.

Jaek's face flared in a moment of anger and frustration before quickly sputtering out. 'Twas no use. He'd get Lars for sure, in his own special way. The captain would know it too. Hell hath no fury like a Frostarian enraged. If it was a Frostarian woman scorned, then no place in heaven nor hell could hide you.

"All of that for nothing," he huffed, his deep voice now reverberating cleanly without that metallic edge to his voice that his helmet provided. "Good fight, Kiffar. The armor though..." he touched a hand to the slice Torm had made to his abdomen area, his hand coming back with small amounts of blood. "I'm not a fan. Keep that to a minimum in our sparring unless you're actually fighting for your life." To any other individual, sparring with the Frostarian would equate to fighting for one's life. However Jaek had a healthy respect for the Kiffar as warriors, Torm being a prime example as to why. He held them to a higher standard. Sure, it was an unfair generalization to those who hadn't the skill and ability unique to Torm, but Jaek hadn't the time nor the want to spend useful mental space assigning each Kiffar a certain level of restraint the Frostarian would show. In fact, Jaek held every warrior he came across to some sort of expectation in the hopes he'd face someone as strong or stronger than Torm. If the opponent failed to deliver, especially a Kiffar, the Frostarian would simply scoff at their existence as a fighting individual.

So far, Jaek had been disappointed with any he'd come across as of yet.

"I don't suppose they'll let me back into the city, do you?" he asked, wiping off some imaginary dust from his shoulder. "I need to either strip my armor or fetch parts from a back up suit before I go back in anyways."

Torm calmly closes his eyes, pressing more of his thought into getting what he wanted from Hemsley "Sorry about the armor. Might've gone a bit overboard on that." he begins "That aside, if they won't let you in, I'll just put you there myself. I'm capable of bringing someone over a wall of even that size." he states, leading into a final comment "I suppose I should let you know, I'm trying to dig into the gremlin's mind. I don't know what you were after, but I'm sure if they stay within the city's boundaries, as long as my concentration is undivided, I'll be able to dig it out." he finishes, returning his attention to digging.

"The Boff gang," Jaek muttered. "That gremlin works for the Boff Gang, one of the largest crime rings in Zenith. I've only ever gotten instruction through messengers like Hemsley, never from Ottaga Boff himself, the bastard. Normally I'd take offense but I can't really blame them. I need to know their main headquarter's location and Boff himself's location, if you can do that."

The sound of twigs snapping sounded behind them as a few White Raven members approached the two hailing from the WR camp that's been residing outside of Zenith's walls.

"I assume it didn't go well?" the familiar voice of Jaek's lieutenant, Abaddon, rang out.
The Frostarian rolled his eyes. "The Kiffar interrupted. Help me with this armor."

Both began to help remove the remaining intact pieces of armor while Torm continued to dig through Hemsley's mind.

Clang. Shing. Jingle. Tread tread.. Hemsley was tossed into a cell of the Jail House of Zenith. There were many doting the settled lands of Zenithia and there were many secrets inside of it. Few people were released as the Kingdom was very lenient with punishment. Petty crimes were dealt with on the spot by the guards and larger crime do'ers were dragged off to this place. The Gremlin whimpered and glanced over to the cot he had for a bed and then the little rinky water fountain and a very unnappealing place to use the bathroom.

Lars had departed a long while ago, nothing worth his time was in those dark depths. Along with that, the guards who captured him only handed him over to the ones posted at the Jailhouse.

Torm was already digging into the gremlin's poorly-defended mind. He quietly whispered into Hemsley's mind "Show me your secrets. Show me your master." this was not a direct attempt at communicating with him, but rather him prodding the gremlin's thoughts toward where Torm wanted him to go. He'd already established a foothold, and he planned to follow the path the Gremlin laid out, should his little suggestion work, and the creature decide to become pensive about his boss and where exactly that path may lead. However, should Hemsley choose to resist him, he would simply wrench the information from his mind. The process would be painful, but not lethal or permanently harmful. He'd simply suffer from a mild chronic headache for a week or so, and have the oddest sense of Deja Vu whenever he saw or was spoken to about these particular topics.

Hemsley the gremlin tossed and turned on his little cot. The thick woolen blanket provided had been scratchy but it suited him just fine. The little greenskin was dreaming as he slept in his cell. A big scary Frostarian was chasing him through some sort of maze, it was horrible. It seemed that every time he thought he'd found the way out it simply stopped in a dead end. The Frostarian was no help. Hemsley would constantly hear the frightening Northerner yell Hemsley's name and scream obscenities.

"I'm going to bite your puny little head off!" "I'll stomp your guts out!" "Bacon is overrated!" Hemsley winced. What an absolute madman.

The little greenskin, only the size of a human child, panicked as he took off on another sprint, desperate to find the way out. He was not about to get his head bitten off. Hemsley ran down the familiar corridor, opening any door he could find and slamming them shut when all they produced was a dead end.

He could hear the heavy footsteps of the Frostarian draw near. It seemed as if the walls had begun to get closer and closer. Despite being short of stature, the gremlin had never been fond of tight spaces. Sweat began to form on his forehead until suddenly the floor fell out beneath him, and the greenskin fell into a black abyss screaming and clawing for the hallway above him.

"Show me your secrets. Show me your master."

What? He stopped his screaming and began looking around, turning his head rapidly this way and that. He wasn't falling anymore. He was... floating? It was black all around him. Pure darkness.

"Show me your secrets. Show me your master."
"Who wants to know?" he shouted into the void.
"Show me your secrets. Show me your master."
"You're not much of a conversationalist, are you."
"Show me your secrets. Show me your master."
"Yeah, yeah. I get it, pal. But until I know who you are and why you wanna know, I ain't saying nothin'!"
"Show me your secrets. Show me your master."
The gremlin rolled his eyes. "Look, ma- Mysterious voice in the dark. I don't just divulge that kinda info out to strangers. Especially not to people to just interrupt somebody when they're sleeping."
"Show me your secrets. Sho-"
"Show me your master. Geez, I know," he groaned. Hemsley scratched the back of his head with his clawed fingers. He pulled his hand back and began picking away at some of the dead skin beneath his nails. "Alright, look. I work for the Boff guy, alright? But you can't be tellin' no one it was me who told you this, alright? Boff's HQ is in the West Ward, okay? Industrial Zone, you should know the place. Underground, of course. He uses the business as his cover to keep the Guardsmen off his back."

The voice was silent.

"Are we done here? Can I go back to dreaming?" The gremlin blinked and rethought about his question. "You know what? I'm good." The image of a giant white humanoid with Hemsley in his grasp being decapitated with one bite containing razor sharp teeth made the greenskin shiver.

When Hemsley had given Torm what he had asked for, he simply retreated from the Gremlin's mind. His eyes open, slowly, and he calmly states "I've got what you wanted to know. Hemsley gave it up without much of a fight." and stretches out his limbs a little. Once he'd loosened up once again, he tells them what Hemsley's subconscious told him "Boff's headquarters are in the West Ward, Industrial Zone. He uses a business as a front to keep the Guards away."

"Figures." Jaek stood in the remaining black body glove made of some sort of very flexible leather. The other White Raven that had come with Abaddon presented some folded clothing to their leader who promptly began to dress. The Frostarian wore a simple green shirt and brown baggy pants. To those who knew him from Zenith, the sight was an unusual one. Jaek was almost always in his armor or in some sort of military garb. To see him wear such casual clothing like this was odd to say the least. A few things had changed over the years.

"Looks like I have a business to bankrupt through property damage. I'd notify the Guardsmen but I'd rather deal with Boff myself. That and that sniveling captain of the guard, Lars." Jaek huffed. "Entitled shit."

"That one was just doing his job, let him be." Torm advises, before approaching the wall. He readies himself mentally, waiting for Jaek, if he wanted to come along "I'm going to just carry myself over the wall. If you want to come along, I reccommend saying something before I start." he states, already gathering the necessary strength to levitate himself without exhausting his connection for the evening. If he did this right, he'd be fine. If he did it wrong, he'd be in trouble.

The Frostarian spit. "I'd appreciate the lift." He crossed his arms and looked away with a small frown.

He did his job with an attitude.

The Kiffar nods his head, and takes another deep breath. He was drawing strength from his physical body at the moment, as well as from the connections of his nearby kin. "Then prepare yourself." He states, sternly. After a moment of fair warning and preparation, Torm raises one of his hands, picking up the still relatively hefty weight of Jaek. He hauls the Frostarian upward, following shortly afterword, his own dominant hand facing palm-down as he brings himself up through the air.

Now, lifting someone or something, that was easy. He could be as rough or as precise as he wanted. It didn't matter, either it was strong enough to withstand his force, or he was outside of the situation, and could maintain his concentration. However, self-levitation was a bit of a challenge. Some people would perform the feat at a rudimentary level, maintaining a constant level of kinetic force against the ground to propel themselves upward, as though they were simply using thrusters to hover and fly about. He, however, was quite literally pulling himself upward at a slow pace. This was the easiest way to move himself without sustaining collateral damage. Otherwise, he would've simply launched himself over the wall and allowed himself to decimate whatever he'd come into contact with on the other side to preserve himself.

Jaek quietly touched down onto the pavement of Zenith's streets just behind the gates and let out a sigh. Sure, the Kiffar's telekinesis came in handy in all sorts of scenarios, but he really didn't like the feeling of being manhandled by someone's brain.

Some of the guards looked up at the sky then back at Jaek, scratching the back of their heads out of confusion. First these Frostarians had a reputation of being nigh indestructible and now they could fly? Nothing made sense anymore.

Then again, if you were to base experience off of drab normality, then clearly you've never been to Zenith.

The Frostarian quietly pat Mortem on his back to make sure his precious sword was still there before looking to Torm as he touched down. "Where do you go from here?" he inquired, his near baritone voice arousing the attention of a few nearby citizens.

Torm touches down shortly, letting the small breeze of the evening blow across his back. The evening was beautiful, but he really didn't have long to spend enjoying it. After all, he was barely clothed at this point, the Northerner's weapons had practically decimated his clothing. Torn pants, shirt barely even capable of being called as such "In fact." the Kiffar mused, before taking the shirt off and just tossing it to the wind, exposing his cut-up but well-formed chest to the air.

"Industrial Zone is that way, you're looking for the West Ward. Just kick in the door, they won't be able to stop you for long, even now. I'm returning to my quarters to retrieve a change of robes, and then I'll join you there. Provided I'm there, it'll make everything official." the Psion stated, taking a moment to mend his injuries. His strength was flagging, if only a little. But he would still be a more than formidable opponent to just about anybody he could come across in the city, save the King or his own peoples' Grand Mind.

If Jaek would not stop him, Torm would choose simply to dart off for the Kiffar embassy. Granted, the ship would be easier to reach. But he'd have to pass through security, and it would take ages for him to do so there. He would likely grab something to eat as well, something to chew on while he made his way to the West Ward.

The Nephilim nodded his thanks. It'd be weird doing this without armor, but it'd have to do. All for agility and stealth's sake, he supposed. "I'll see you there then. Don't come too late or there won't be anybody left for you." With that statement followed by a sly grin, the Frostarian mercenary began making his way down the streets towards the Industrial sector of Zenith.

For what felt like the very first time Jaek took in the crowd around him. He took in the smells, a conglomeration of various food smells, the scents of the denizens of Zenith, and whatever other fragrance that came his nose's way. The Frostarian had to blink for a second to get his eyes adjusted at the life before his eyes. Staring at the people of Zenith was like staring at a sun-like rainbow. Sure, it was late in the evening, but torched lamps lit the streets on either side of the streets. It would be interesting to see what Zenith looked like from a bird's eye view.

Hopefully nobody would recognize him, he thought. Frostarians themselves attracted enough attention. He didn't want any additional "fans" showing up to cause a ruckus while he was attempting what he fancied as a covert operation. Jaek hid himself in his armor enough times to the point that, with luck, nobody would be able to identify him without it.

Torm quietly moves across the marketplace toward his home embassy, practically disappearing with how quickly he was moving. He makes an effort to scoop up his cloak to cover himself up on his way in. A necessary measure for him to avoid drawing the suspicion of his colleagues.

The Kiffar takes in his surroundings, allowing himself to perceive solely through the minds of others. He uses this insight to make certain he is unseen on his way. All the while, he's reaching out to his friend Johnathan, asking him to keep one of the upstairs windows open for him to enter. Confident of his secured entrance, he picks up his pacing even more so, actually starting to launch himself upwards, allowing himself to momentarily soar through the air and land softly in clear, if a bit obscured locations to cover ground faster.

He hoped, if for a moment, that nobody would pay too much attention to him whilst he was temporarily exposed in the air. After all, he couldn't keep himself hidden all the time, despite his ability to quite literally tune himself out of the perceptions of others.